


Can We Always Be This Close?

by IncandescentAntelope



Series: Chubby Yuuri Week 2019 [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anniversary, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Fade to Black, Fluff, Katsuki Yuuri in Lingerie, M/M, Post-Canon, Power Outage, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-13 01:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope
Summary: It’s Viktor’s and Yuuri’s anniversary, and Yuuri has a lovely evening planned, but a power outage ruins it all. Or does it?





	Can We Always Be This Close?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 5 of chubby Yuuri week - date night! This fic has _accompanying ART_ from my lovely friend Sav (aka [ @savsglasses](https://twitter.com/savsglasses))! Please follow her on twitter, read her fics, and give her lots of love!
> 
> Title lifted from Lover by Taylor Swift. (recommended listening, and the song mentioned at the end!)

Snow drifted in gentle waves around Viktor’s face as they walked, dancing around his almost elven features as they were cast in the warm glow of streetlights and the fading gold of the setting sun. They walked back from the movie theater, sharing quiet conversation and quick, pecked kisses. The movie had been admittedly inconsequential, when they had mostly just ignored the plot in favor of examining the combined flavors of popcorn butter and chocolate on each others’ lips in the back row.

Their date nights were usually quiet affairs, movie nights in, getting coffee on the way home from the rink, with the occasional nice dinner thrown in on Saturday nights. But today was a special day. Today was their anniversary. 

Viktor, self-appointed date scheduler, had filled their day with soft reminiscing, rewatching recordings of their first season together, cuddled up on the couch, giggling at the frantic commentators trying to make sense of their sudden kiss at the Cup of China, their _‘inexplicably close relationship’_ growing closer and closer with every act of PDA. 

Yuuri had gladly claimed charge of dinner and dessert, and had been eagerly making plans for the night for nearly a week, researching how to make Viktor’s favorite dishes, gathering ingredients, and searching out (and buying) what he had intended to cook the meal _in_. He had even worn the set of lingerie he had found under his clothes when they went out for the movie, and shopping before that. 

It was a black lace ensemble with a matching sheer robe; the robe, of course, would be added after they got home, but the night had other plans for them. Yuuri was first in the door and first to recognize that perhaps something was awry, when none of the lights in their apartment flickered to life when he flipped the switch. 

“What…?” Yuuri muttered as he tried it again, to no avail. “Viten’ka, you paid the power bill, _da?_” he asked, his husband’s native Russian having bled into his own speech.

Viktor balked at the question. “Of course, lapochka, I have it set for automatic payments… why?” he replied, a soft _‘oh’_ falling from his lips when Yuuri’s repeated switching of the light didn’t bring the room lights to life. “I wonder if anyone else is without power… I’ll go ask Natalya--” he began to walk back out into the hall and toward the apartment next to theirs. 

Yuuri didn’t protest, knowing what a kind heart their neighbor was. He frowned slightly, realizing the wouldn’t be able to cook the meal he had planned. This certainly wasn’t the end of the world, save for the work he had done to prepare for it. It was the off-season, so he could just as easily make the dinner tomorrow night without worrying about all the extra calories he and Viktor would be ingesting. 

His heart sank a bit, though, when he saw the pint of ice cream sitting on the counter. He had forgotten to put it in the freezer before he left. _“Kuso…”_ he swore under his breath, prying off his dress shoes and nearly slipping as he hurried across the kitchen floor in his socks. 

The ice cream was just barely solid; the melted treat threatened to spill over the sides of the container when Yuuri peeled the lid back. 

“Yuuuu-ri! Natalya doesn’t have power either, and neither do the Petroviches down the hall…” Viktor’s voice floated in from the entryway. “Ivan thinks it’s something to do with the cold, but that doesn’t really make much sense.”

“That’s odd.” Yuuri said simply, staring at the melting ice cream, wondering why on earth he hadn’t thought to stash it away in the freezer. It would have stayed frozen, even if the power cut out… “Maybe we should call management?” 

Viktor hummed affirmatively and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, quickly dialing the number for the superintendent of the building, exchanging a few hurried Russian phrases with him in the process. There was a problem with a downed power line a mile up the street and the backup generators had failed, leaving the building in darkness and without heat. 

Viktor conveyed the information to Yuuri, who he had noticed was looking more than a bit disappointed by the state of affairs. “Well, _lyubov moya,_ perhaps it’s time we used the fireplace again, da?” he asked, nodding toward the brick hearth they hadn’t yet used this winter. They had been so busy with the competitive season that they barely had enough time to relax and enjoy evenings in. 

Yuuri smiled and nodded, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and dialing the pizza place he and Viktor usually frequented when they allowed themselves a greasy, cheesy treat. 

_“Mm, for delivery, please.”_ Yuuri said in his stilted Russian. He heard Viktor giggle in the other room, clearly thinking that his Russian needed work. _“Yes, please. Thank you.”_ he murmured into the other line and crossed back into the living room, letting the ice cream continue to melt. “Is my Russian _that_ bad, Viten’ka?” he asked, blushing softly as he watched Viktor roll up his sleeves and ignite the kindling he had piled up under a small pile of dried firewood. 

“Oh Yuuri, your Russian is lovely for a learner,” Viktor said with an easy, lopsided smile. “You’ve improved a lot since you moved in.” he added, wanting to make sure Yuuri knew it was a compliment. Yuuri snorted regardless, laughing at the way Viktor sounded like he was complimenting a child’s painting. 

“Ah, so it _is_ that bad, hm?” he said, watching as the flames slowly grew and began to lick up over the exposed wood, eating away the bark and lighting up the darkness of their living room. Viktor laughed again and assured him he was learning quickly, and his Russian was perfectly passable. 

“... but your accent is definitely noticeable.” he added at the end, turning over his shoulder to admire his husband when the fire had begun to burn satisfactorily. “Now, let’s make up a little picnic. You go find us a blanket, and I’ll get Makka her dinner, so she doesn’t whine and try to eat our people food.”

Yuuri smiled and laughed, knowing the poodle’s penchant for running off with (and enjoying, to her own detriment) food not meant for canine consumption. Viktor headed off into the kitchen, Makkachin’s feet padding along down the hallway the moment she heard her bag of food opening. 

Yuuri smiled softly at the sight of his husband and their dog, standing side by side in the kitchen in this low light, the light of the fire casting Viktor’s silver hair in a beautiful, golden hue. The light reflected in the window behind Viktor, making the cold expanse of the space feel a little warmer, a little brighter. He stood slowly, feeling the slight ache in his joints that usually accompanied his off-season weight gain, when a thought crossed his mind. 

Nothing was stopping him from wearing the lingerie he had planned.

Yuuri slipped into their bedroom and pulled the simple, blush pink box out from the back of his closet, the simple black font reading _Agent Provocateur_. He stripped out of his suit and tie, tossing it all into a rumpled mess in the corner of the room, fumbling a bit in the dark. The complete ensemble had looked… well, _different_ on the mannequin when he bought it, but after all the sweet, tender care Viktor gave him and the near-constant compliments his husband lauded on him despite his squishy off-season tummy, he felt _sexy_ in it. The black lace clung perfectly to his curves, and he knew Viktor would have more than a few issues keeping his head on straight (or his pants on) the moment he stepped back out into the living room. 

The sheer robe tied around his waist with the satiny ribbon belt, his stockings and garters in place, Yuuri admired his reflection in the mirror, only catching scant glances of himself in the muted light streaming in from their window. Something about the way the robe covered his chest and his hips, hid them from view... something compelled him to leave it to the wayside, and he tossed the garment back in the general direction of their bed. His torso bare, confidence surging, he pulled out a soft blanket from the linen closet and made his way back into the living room, where Viktor had finished feeding Makkachin and was lighting a handful of taper candles scattered on nearly every flat surface of the room. 

He smiled softly and watched for a moment before walking back into view, where golden candlelight painted him in soft swaths of yellow and orange. It took Viktor a moment to notice, his footfalls having been nearly silent. 

“Ah, I hope you didn’t grab the chenille, we’ll be eating… on...” Viktor’s voice died in his throat as Yuuri stepped into view, wearing that. “W-wow, _zvezda moya_…” 

Yuuri smiled and unfolded the blanket, laying it carefully on the ground in front of the fireplace before grabbing a few pillows as well, giving Viktor a full view of the way his ass was accentuated by the set, his cheeks cupped almost perfectly by black lace.

“Do you like it, Viten’ka?” Yuuri asked, his cheeks burning bright red. The inarticulate gulping and stammering in three languages only served to make Yuuri laugh, flushing from his toes to the tips of his ears. 

_“Ya lyublya eto,”_ Viktor began in Russian, entranced by Yuuri’s plush curves and wide hips so beautifully wrapped in lace and satin, _“J'aime...”_ he whispered in French, his tongue tying itself in knots with the effort of finding words satisfactory enough to praise his husband. “You’re beautiful, Yuuri.” he said finally, watching as Yuuri sank to his knees on the floor with him, pressing a kiss to his lips in thanks. 

The slide of Viktor’s hand along the sheer black of his stockings was immediately halted by a sharp rapping of knuckles on the door. “I’ll be back…” he whispered, kissing him once again before standing and greeting the delivery driver with guarded pleasantries. All that was visible of Yuuri from the door was the top of his head, the rest of him concealed behind the couch. _Good_, he thought as he paid the bill and tipped the teenager at the door handily. He wasn’t sure he could imagine letting another soul see Yuuri like this, dressed so perfectly in so little. 

“Viten’ka, grab the ice cream and some spoons, would you? Oh, and the bottle of Moet in the pantry?” Yuuri asked when the door swung shut again. He had settled comfortably on a pile of pillows, basking in the warmth of the fire now burning strong and bright in the brick fireplace. 

“_Da_, shall I get the nice china too?” Viktor asked playfully, reaching into the cabinet for the ivory and gold place settings Viktor’s family had given them as a wedding gift. 

“We don’t need plates, love. Just the spoons and glasses for the champagne.” Yuuri insisted, making Viktor cock his head to the side the way Makkachin did at the sound of a word she didn’t understand. “Let’s just eat it from the box.” 

Viktor smiled and retrieved the things Yuuri asked for, setting the pizza box on the blanket and returning with the ice cream, two spoons, the lukewarm bottle of champagne and two flutes. “We’re going a bit old school, don’t you think? Eating on the floor like we’re having a picnic…” he said as he worked open the wire cage around the cork. 

“Mhm.” Yuuri hummed softly, watching as Viktor deftly popped out the cork, sending it flying god knows where. They both burst into a small fit of giggles as they shared the same moment of _“oh, god, what have we done?”_, and scrambled off to find the missing stopper, should their curious poodle find it on her own. 

It had rolled under the entertainment center, it turned out, when Yuuri used the flashlight on his phone to find it. _“Mitsuketa,”_ he mumbled in Japanese, quickly translating for Viktor as had become his usual practice. “Means ‘I found it’.”

Viktor smiled and held the phone steady when Yuuri handed it off, not fighting back the soft laugh that fell from his lips at the sight of his Yuuri, wearing such sexy lingerie, crawling on the floor looking for a lost champagne cork. 

“Have I told you how much I love you, Yuuri?” Viktor asked when he had safely disposed of the cork. “Because I don’t think I can completely convey just how much I love you.”

Yuuri smiled, his already softening features blurred gently by the warm glow of the firelight, and the flickering, dancing flame burning their leftover wedding candles down cast Yuuri in a magic all his own. Even separate from the lingerie covering his vanilla-colored skin, separate from the scars and calluses and bruises brought on by training; Yuuri was flawless in every sense of the word. 

Viktor poured Yuuri’s glass, then his own, before setting the bottle aside and lifting his flute to Yuuri’s. “To life, to love, and to every power outage, lost cork, and melted tub of ice cream along the way.” he toasted, lavishing in the bright, chiming sound of Yuuri’s laugh. 

When they had both eaten their fill of (by that point, slightly cooled) pizza, the tub of (by that point almost completely melted) ice cream was set between them. They shared bites and reminisced on days passed, of Makkachin’s visit to the vet while they were both in Russia, of their playful banter at the competitions where they rivaled, and the ways the press tended to pit them against each other. 

“I think it’s kind of silly when they insist on calling us by our old names, Yuura. How many times have you had to correct the press?” Viktor laughed, scooping out a liquid-y bite of ice cream for himself. 

“A few dozen… but I think you love hearing me say our new last name, Viten’ka.” Yuuri replied, winking at his husband. “You just love hearing me say, _‘actually, it’s Katsuki-Nikiforov now,’_ don't you?” 

Viktor let out a soft, drawn-out moan that may or may not have been dramatized. It was hard to tell with Viktor sometimes. “_Da_, I do. Say it again for me?” Viktor asked him, sipping the last dregs of the bottle from his flute. 

_”Kat-su-ki--Ni-ki-for-ov.”_ Yuuri enunciated every syllable, making Viktor blush even deeper. “You’re such a sap, Vitya.”

Viktor laughed softly, the boozy flush on his cheeks deepening. “Mmm, I might be a sap, but I’m your sap, Yuura.” he said, pushing aside the empty pizza box, the mostly-eaten pint of ice cream and caught Yuuri’s lips in his. “Now… if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy this… _very_ special gift here.” Viktor teased, nodding down to the delicate lace wrapped around Yuuri’s middle. 

“Actually… can we, um, can we do one thing first?” Yuuri asked, watching Viktor set their flutes on the end table. 

“Of course, love. What is it?” Viktor asked, turning to see Yuuri queueing up a song on his phone and playing it through the bluetooth system Viktor had installed. (Well, someone else had installed it for him, but that was hardly the point at the moment.) The first few notes rang out, gentle and swaying. “Is this…?”

Yuuri nodded. “Our first dance,” he confirmed as the first lines of the song filled their dimly lit apartment, and Yuuri stood to his feet, encouraging Viktor to do the same. “May I have this dance, Viten’ka?” he asked, offering a hand to his husband, who gladly took it. 

“It would be my pleasure, Yuura.” Viktor replied, wrapping a long, lanky arm around Yuuri’s waist, his hand pressing warmly in the small of his back. His left hand held Yuuri’s right, cradling it gently. Yuuri’s other hand laid on Viktor’s chest, feeling the soft material of his button-up, before simply melting against his husband’s chest. 

Viktor’s hand slid up the curved line of his spine and his gently carded his fingers into Yuuri’s soft ebony hair as they swayed in a simple pattern together. Flashes of that night blurred in front of their eyes, bright and joyous and full of powder blue; the candlelight looked like the fairy lights strung up in the gardens at Yu-topia as they twirled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm BLESSED to have worked with my lovely friend Sav on this, please give her all the love!
> 
> ❤️ IA ❤️  
[Tumblr](https://incandescentantelope.tumblr.com) | [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/IAtheAuthor)
> 
> 💜 Chubby Yuuri Week Links 💜  
[Tumblr ](https://chubbyyuuriweek.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chubbyyuuriweek)


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